Had a talk with my old man
Said, "Help me understand"
He said "Turn 68, oh, you'll re-negotiate"
"Don't stop this train
Don't for a minute change the place you're in
And don't think I couldn't ever understand
I tried my hand
John, honestly we'll never stop this train"
["Stop this Train", John Mayer]I woke to cuddles and kisses and birthday well-wishes. Lying in bed, I put on the "Fiddy" playlist I'd compiled over the last few weeks. LA and I argued over whether I was the one who introduced her to John Mayer when the above song came on (I didn't). When "Glory Days" by Springstein came on, she asked what age I considered mine, and I didn't give it much thought before assuming my early 20s.
But that's not the truth. It's always been my sort of "go to" answer, my gut reaction. But it's not really the truth. It's always easy to look into the past and romanticize it. We tend to forget the bad and remember the good. It's instinctive. It's how the human brain is hardwired. When I think "20s" I think summers in Greenwood: girlfriends, crud, classroom and drill instruction. I remember feeling powerful and well-respected and having some great friendships. I was healthy and full of energy. We worked hard and played even harder. But I don't think of apartment living, working retail or being unemployed, struggling to make bills, of mourning my mother, of living away and moving home, or of going through difficult breakups.
Nostalgia is self-deception.
At a sober second look, I'd have to dare suggest I'm in the best part of my life right now. If I could be at any time in my life, it would be this one. It's not carefree (when was?) or stress-free (when was?). I'm not in perfect health (was I ever really though?) and yeah, we're in the middle of a global pandemic and all that, but... I'm pretty content. I've forgiven myself for most of the mistakes of my past, come to terms with who I am, and generally found a fair deal of comfort in my life. I don't think there's another time of my life I'd rather be in than in this very moment.
Now, I've been thinking about writing today for weeks now. I felt like it was almost expected. Turning fifty. Wow. I find it hard to believe. I knew I'd have to come change the tagline at the top, if nothing else, and figured it was the sort of milestone that people would expect me to have an opinion or insight on. That said, I... don't really? I didn't have much in mind when I sat down, so today is "gardening", not "architecture", if you catch my drift.
Fifty. Wow.
At forty, it's easy to think of older relatives and think things like "well Dad lived into his 80s", but at fifty, the idea that your life is half-over seems pretty undeniable. What are my odds of seeing 100? Would I even want to? (Probably, at 99.) My playlist - it's largely tongue-in-cheek - starts with "All Down Hill from Here" by Candlebox, followed by "Halfway There" by Soundgarden.
At fifty, I think this is where I'm supposed to be having a mid-life crisis, but I feel like all the questions I'm supposed to be wallowing in are things I largely dealt with long ago.
The question of the divine? Reconciling the "ineffable" plans of a Christian god against my mother's condition pretty much sorted that for me in my teens. I've been a spiritual Taoist since my early 20s and two of my five tattoos are Taijitu. Clearly, I've long felt I'm unlikely to change my mind about that. I don't believe in heaven or hell, nor do I feel compelled to or that I'm somehow missing something by not. It doesn't answer a question I'm asking. I have a different concept of immortality or of legacy, and it doesn't require me to be rich, powerful, famous, or religious. It's far simpler.
My mother's death in my early 20s was a harsh introduction to the concept of mortality. I've contemplated my own death many times, and what it would mean for me (nothing - I stop existing) and those around me (mostly that they'll get over it, but I'd like Dan to be a bit older, I'm not in a hurry or anything). The notion of being terribly ill for a long time is far more frightening to me (especially after watching what my mother experienced).
I've never been keen on fast cars or fancy stereos. There were enough oats and we'll leave it at that.
As for the existential question, I read "Doing Nothing: Coming to the End of the Spiritual Search" by Steven Harrison many years ago, and agreed with most of what he said. Well, I read most of the book. He started babbling about quantum mechanics toward the end. I highly recommend the first half of the book but when it stops making sense, stop worrying yourself over it and give up. He shouldn't be offended, since giving up on asking is kind of the point of the book anyway, so I think not finishing it... well, I think I'm ahead of the curve. [tl;dr Your concept of 'self' is a fictional prison your brain constructs at around age five, and the existential question is of longing to return to the whole from which you've only ever been separated by the lies you've told your 'self'. If instead you watch the film Revolver enough times that it starts to make sense, you can probably skip this book.]
Accomplishments? Purpose?
The purpose of your life, who you are, is whatever you choose it to be. I'm not my job. I'm not how much money I have in the bank. I'm not the car I drive. I'm not the contents of my wallet. I'm not my fucking khakis. Thank you, Tyler Durden.
I only ever had one thing on my bucket list, and I've crossed it off. That's not to say I won't find something else to put on there. And it wasn't an accomplishment, it was something I wanted to experience.
What's my purpose? What will I leave behind? What will I accomplish?
Leave it better than I found it.
It's that simple. And already I feel like there has to be people out there who remember some little bit of wisdom I passed on, some idea or tidbit, some splinter-of-the-mind I gave them, blessing or curse, that repeats itself in their head in a way that makes their life just a tiny bit better for it. Maybe it's someone who read something I wrote. Maybe it's a student I taught years ago and made an impression on. And most of all, most of all... I hope years after I'm gone, Dan's life will still be guided by cherished bits of wisdom I've tried to share with him, particularly those passed to me by my own parents.
But as for now: don't stop this train.
I look forward to the future. I look forward to some day retiring. I like the idea of having more time to write, more time to play, more time to travel. Liza-Ann thinks I'll get bored quickly and want to do something. She's quite right, but it won't be more work. It'll be putting energy into causes, into things I believe in, and not something to financially support my current lifestyle. Maybe I'll do a Tedx talk. Maybe I'll volunteer with some local organizations I believe in.
Whatever it is, there's time, and there's options. So many options.
I may need to buy shades.
"Look, I don't want to wax philosophic,
but I will say that if you're alive
you've got to flap your arms and legs.
You've got to jump around a lot,
for life is the very opposite of death,
and therefore you must at very least think noisy
and colorfully, or you're not alive."
[Mel Brooks]
